The White Month.

2:29 pm, somewhere near the border of the Gobi desert, alone in an apartment without heat, a hungover American woman googles Angelina Jolie’s right leg.

The end of the White Month not only means the beginning the spring, but also the end of being told I am “a good drinker.” Thanks! I AM a good drinker, aren’t I? Three cheers for me!

Tsagaan Sar visits by the numbers:
Families: 17
Buuz (rough estimate): 60
Vodka shots (conservative, non-recreational): 102
Airag glasses (by recommendation of the governor, in lieu of vodka): 6
Take-home candy/phone cards/skin whiteners: Countless

There will certainly come a day when I am no longer rewarded for gluttony. But for now…

(This is probably bad.)

Happy New Year!


I know you.

“You were in the TV. You said many words in Mongolian. So I know you.”

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my howling red deel and I were on (TOWN NAME REDACTED) local TV, making all kinds of statements and saying all kinds of words in Mongolian. Now people recognize me when I’m out doing important things like carrying horse-in-surf holograms I just bought or loitering near the chaperone’s table at high school/college dances. It makes me feel like Harrison Ford.

O broken language! Hurtling out across space to you and then back through space to me! My language all broken up with your language, clanging around like so much broken glass in a dirty tube sock.
O let’s make out or something.
I’m in the TV.